


Between Heaven and Hell

by DeanLittle



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-14 20:10:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeanLittle/pseuds/DeanLittle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After leaving the hunting life and joining underground fighting, Dean Winchester learns of a way to bring his brother back. Will he risk his friendship and potential relationship with the mysterious Castiel and the life he's made for himself for someone he lost years ago? Based on the Fan-Made trailer 'Between Heaven and Hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I had to abandon this story for a few months due to some personal problems going on. Now that I'm back, you can expect somewhat regular updates until the story is finished. If I do have to go on another hiatus, I will let you know. Because of the hiatus I was on, I revamped the story a little bit, so the prologue and chapter 1 are along the same lines with a few changes, so if you read it when it was originally posted, please read again. 
> 
> ~Dean

Prologue 

November 2, 1983

The night sky was a dark blue, the sun just lowering below the horizon in the distance of Lawrence, Kansas. Mary Winchester, a young woman devoted to her family, was putting her youngest son to bed that night. His name was Samuel, Sammy as a nickname dubbed by his older brother Dean, and he had just turned six months old that night. She laid him down in his crib, pulling the cotton blankets up mid-chest and giving him a kiss on the forehead before standing upright and walking to the door. She could hear John downstairs watching whatever late-night-talk-show he could find on at the time. She peaked back at Sammy’s crib before closing the door, leaving it open only a crack because the poor child was scared of the dark.  
She made her way to Dean’s room, noticing the unusual quietness filling the room when she opened the door. The blue walls were being covered by his drawings, which he was very proud of. When asked about them, he would simply smile and reply, “I mades dem all by myself!” It brought a smile to her face as she thought about how he would sit at the kitchen table and draw while she baked pie and Sammy played with whatever pots she sat out for him.  
“Dean?” she called out to the empty room hoping to lure him out of whatever hiding spot he was using that time. It was always a challenge to get him to bed at night, even when he knew he was going to get a song or story. He always avoided Mary until the last second, deciding that bedtime was worth it in the end. “Fine, I guess you don’t get a song tonight,” she said with a mock sigh. Her hand hadn’t been on the cool metal of the door handle for even a second when she heard rustling from under the bed. A blonde head peaked out from under the frame.  
“Wait! Mommy, wait!” he cried out as he struggled to get free of the bed’s grip. He was getting too big to hide under there, and everyone knew it. She took a mental note to remind John that he needed to do something about it. Dean was going to get stuck under there one of those days, and it wasn’t going to be her fault when he did.  
He crawled into his racecar, dressed in his dinosaur pajamas, and pulled the blue sheets up to his chin. His bright green eyes pierced her soul with nothing but innocence and kindness. With a smile, she sat next to her eldest son and wrapped her arms around him. She held him close, never wanting to let him go.   
“Carry on my wayward son. There’ll be peace when you are done. Lay your weary head to rest. Don’t you cry no more,” she sang softly. His eyes fluttered shut barely halfway through the song, hands clinging to her white nightgown like a safety blanket a child needed when venturing into a new world. “Sweet dreams, Dean-o. Angels are watching over you,” left her lips as a whisper, kissing his forehead. She managed to loosen his grip and replace herself with his favorite teddy bear.   
She closed his door, leaving it open only a crack so that she or John could hear him if he started having a nightmare. He didn’t have them as often as he used to, but she would rather him feel safe than abandoned. The television was still on downstairs, a tell-tale sign that John was still downstairs watching his show. A smile spread across her face as she realized that he would probably fall asleep. It didn’t matter to her though, because she didn’t have to worry if he was safe or not. He was in their home, the safest place for her family.   
Their bed gave her a sweet release from all motherly duties. In bed was where she could relax and not have to worry about her children’s safety or if they had eaten or not. When she was wrapped in the blankets and the mattress molding around her, she was able to relinquish all control for a few hours of peacefulness before having to go back to the duties she was happy to fulfill.   
Sleep engulfed her shortly after managing to click off the lamp. Sadly, the tranquility was short lived when she heard someone in Sammy’s room. Her mother bear instincts kicked in slightly as she looked at the clock, annoyed that it was two in the morning. She kicked off the blankets and rolled out of bed, bare feet hitting the wooden floor as sleep tried pulling her back in. Her arms wrapped around her torso as she walked to the nursery.   
The door opened with a gentle push. The darkness was invaded by the nightlight, illuminating John standing over Sammy.  
“Does he need fed?” she asked groggily. He responded with a quiet shush, sending her off back to bed.   
As she was about to turn into their bedroom, she saw the lights flicker at the end of the hallway by the stairs. It wasn’t a surprise the house was having some faulty electrical wiring due to the fact that it was older. One bare foot after the other on the cool wood brought her to the end of the hall. A few taps on the light brought it back to it’s normal life, but something was off. She looked down the stairs to the living room, seeing that the television was still on and John fast asleep in his old recliner.  
“Sammy!” she called out, running to the nursery at the end of the hallway. That was the last thing she remembered before searing pain as fire engulfed her on the ceiling of the room, the nightlight still on and John screaming for a lost cause as Dean ran outside with Sammy in his arms.


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the NEW chapter 1, so please read if you originally read, or read if you haven't. Either way works. 
> 
> ~Dean

Chapter 1

19 Years Later - 2001

  
The referee hit the iron bell three times, signaling the start of the match. Dean bounced around his opponent, waiting for the first punch to be thrown. The crowd’s cheers kept him centered and focused on one thing, winning. In the cage there was no Sammy or John or hunting the things that lurked in the darkness when nobody was looking, only fighting the person put in front of him. The tape around his knuckles itched to be stained with the blood of the opponent.  
“Let the fight begin!” the ref yelled, Adam throwing the first punch merely seconds after the booming voice was drowned out by the screams of the crowd. He could hear them chanting his name repeatedly, mixed in with Adam’s, as they threw punches back and forth. He felt a fist collide with his jaw and stars filled his vision.   
“Come on, Winchester! Y’ can do better than that!” he heard Joe yell from the cage door trying to egg him on. It’s not like he wasn’t trying, but everyone knew he wasn’t trying his hardest -- even Adam with his wild punches. If there was a difference between the two to the crowd, it would be that Dean formulated each move in his mind and waited for the right time to strike whereas Adam threw wildly. It wasn’t his fault though, Dean had just hunted the monsters since his mother died in a house fire and his father went crazy on finding the monster that caused it.   
Dean formulated in his mind and dodged Adam’s wild punches. He took the opportunity when his opponent let his guard down to attack brutally. He could feel the crack of bone beneath his fists and the stickiness of the blood start to seep through the tape onto his skin. He could see the man below him start to gasp for air when the blood started to cover his face. His blonde hair was stained red at the tips and his ‘perfect’ features not so perfect anymore.  
“And the winner is Dean Winchester!” the ref called out from the door before hitting the iron bell three times. The door was unlocked and the medics had to drag Adam out with his groans dripping from his mouth like the blood seeping through the gashes in his skin. Dean stepped out of the cage and walked to the locker room, waiting for Joe to come in to tell him about the next fight he was scheduled for.   
He wrangled the bloody tape from his knuckles and washed his hands clean. The clear tap water ran red with the innocence he lost long ago, sweat clinging to his body and his boxers riding low on his waist, barely able to hang onto the angle of his hips. His locker opened with ease, allowing him to pull on the grey sweater over the forming bruises across his torso and wrestle to get his duffle bag out. He could feel the ache in his knuckles as he remembered the feeling of the bones breaking under his touch, as if he were a god compared to Adam.  
“Great job, Dean-o!” Joe called from across the room. His manager was a middle aged man, divorced twice with no kids. He had nothing going for himself, so he relied on the young men he managed to bring him in the money he needed to survive, as if he couldn’t survive based on the weight packed on across his abdomen. He ran a hand over the mostly bald head that held the impossibly smart brain which was able to calculate how to train the men to win each match before even seeing the competition.   
“Yeah. Great,” Dean muttered under his breath. He didn’t particularly enjoy the gym-sock smelling locker rooms at each venue or the men who ogled his body as he fought his way to another paycheck, but it was a paycheck nonetheless. Joe embraced him in a hug, careful not to rub his new suit across anything sweaty on Dean’s body.   
“I got someone for y’ to meet, Dean-o. His name’s Castiel Novak and he’s gonna be your next opponent. Y’re lucky he wanted to meet y’ first.” Dean nodded as Joe let him go, motioning to a man at the edge of the lockers.  
The first thing he noticed about Castiel was the shade of blue his eyes were. They were like sapphires molded in the high reaches of Heaven above with the ocean swimming within them. His dark-brown hair hung into his face slightly, not enough to cover the gorgeous eyes but just enough to give him the rugged look every fighter needed to enforce dominance over the competition. Dean could tell the man was fit by the way he held himself and the way his muscles looked underneath the blue button down shirt that clung like silk. The blue jeans hung low on his hips, the tan skin beneath glowing through like the gold of a necklace under a light to be examined by speculating eyes.  
“It’s nice to meet you, Cass,” Dean said, shaking Castiel’s hand firmly. He caught himself using a pet name already, but it wasn’t as if it was out of character for him. He’d been giving people pet names since he was four.   
“Cass?” Castiel questioned with a befuddled look plastered across his face. “I like it,” he chuckled with a smile, revealing a mouth full of pearl white teeth. Was there nothing imperfect about this man?   
“Now that y’ two have met, I’ll leave y’ to talk. I got to talk to Adam’s manager about the damage y’ caused him tonight,” Joe announced with a smile and a wave goodbye as he exited the room, leaving the two men alone.   
“I’m sorry, but I really need to get out of this place. Do you want to talk over a cup of coffee?” Dean questioned as he grabbed his bag. Cass smiled and nodded, letting Dean lead the way to the coffee shop just down the road from the warehouse. Dean got past the fans and into the serenity of the night with no problems, leading Cass into the quaint coffee shop.  
“One mocha frappuccino and whatever he wants, on me,” Dean said to the barista, Lydia. He could tell she had recently died her hair black again and had lost some weight. Cass gave him a shy smile before ordering.   
“I’ll have a caramel non-fat latte with extra whipped cream,” Cass ordered. The barista looked at them with an odd look. Cass nodded towards a table across the room, signaling he was going to go save it for them. Dean nodded, turning back to Lydia.  
“I like him already,” she told Dean with a smile. “I’ll put it on your tab.”   
“He’s a coworker,” he told her with a smirk. “It’s purely professional. Also, add an extra twenty as your tip and buy yourself something nice. I‘ll be by within the next few days to pay off the tab.” She smiled at him and handed him their drinks. He turned to find Cass sitting by the window, staring out to the busy life of Detroit.   
He sat down across from Cass, sliding his latte over to him on the slick surface of the metal table. The reflection of wings in the glass window caught his eye as the lights from the outside seemed nonexistent in the small space they were in. He turned to Cass as he drank his own drink.  
“So, Cass, tell me about yourself,” Dean said nonchalantly. He enjoyed being able to befriend his opponents because it gave them a deep root that couldn’t be pulled out by work. It stopped them from becoming enemies and staying friends. It was a technique learned after years of mistakes with past fighting partners, including Adam.  
“Well, I have 3 siblings. My oldest brother is Michael and my second oldest is Gabriel. I have a younger sister Anna. Our mother was never in the picture, but our father was amazing even though he wasn’t around as much as he could have been due to work.” Cass took a drink of his latte with a shocked expression. “Best latte I’ve had since high school. Anyway, I graduated top of my class from a small high school in the middle of nowhere. My father pushed for me to go to Harvard, but I dropped out due to stress and family problems that had been happening. That’s about it.” Dean nodded at him, a thought popping into his head.  
“How did you get into this business? It’s not like people go and look for a job as a fighter.” Dean continued to drink, waiting for Cass to give him an answer. The man looked down at his hands -- which were wrapped around his latte -- as if he was in deep thought. With a sigh, he explained himself.  
“My ‘friend‘, Zachariah, told me that it payed good. He’s never fought, but he knows people who had through managing them. I was broke and in the need for some cash, so I got in expecting it to be only a few times. I’m trying to get out, but it’s hard because nowadays you can get in big shit if certain people find out that you’re wanting to get out.” Dean nodded, knowing exactly how that felt. “I have a full time job as a Customer Service Representative for a software company. It doesn’t pay as good as fighting, but I live off it.” Cass looked down at the watch which was wrapped around his wrist. “And speaking of my job, I have to leave before I’m late.”   
Cass stood up and walked out, leaving nothing but a memory in his wake. Dean sat in his chair, eyes following Cass until he could no longer see the man. His story seemed logical but off in some way. He wasn’t exactly sure how, though, and it wasn’t like him to be that skeptical of new people.   
He stood up with his drink in hand and walked outside into the windy city. It wasn’t as bad as it used to be, only because he had gotten used to the wind ripping through his sweater as if it was winter in March. Only a few blocks to the east was his apartment building, nothing too fancy but nothing infested with pests ranging from insects to drug dealers to the supernatural. It had taken him a while to find something normal and away from the hunting life, but he eventually managed it.   
The key decided to have a life of it’s own once he reached the building’s door and fall out of his hand -- hitting the pavement with a slight clink. One hand held the drink and his duffle bag while the other fumbled around on the ground trying to find the key. He made a mental note to get a key-ring of some sort as he unlocked the door, shutting it firmly behind him before turning to the stairs. The maintenance man had decided to procrastinate longer on fixing the elevator, leaving Dean to walk up three flights of stairs with whatever he was carrying at the time. It was a bitch when he had to go grocery shopping.   
When he reached his door, he pulled out the second key and unlocked it. The duffle bag made it’s nightly trip off his shoulder and onto the floor next to the door, waiting to be dealt with until the next morning. The next stop of the home-train was taking a quick shower, washing the blood and sweat from his body. Except he took his time this time, allowing himself to let his thoughts run free.   
The water dripped down his body, pooling at his feet and running down the drain with the suds of the soap and shampoo that were being rubbed onto his hair and body. He let the warm water pound on his back and chest as he turned to rinse off his body, his mind wandering to Cass. Quickly, he turned the hot water off, letting the cold water bringing him away from the steamy thoughts of the man he just met no more than two hours ago.   
His feet hit the linoleum as he pulled the towel off the rack, wiping it across the sheet of water covering his body before wrapping it around his waist. The bathroom was steamy with a surface of mist covering almost everything. He enjoyed the peacefulness and serenity of the comforts in his own home, but the one place he enjoyed the most in his sanctuary was the bathroom. He considered it the epitome of peacefulness because as long as he was in there, nothing could really hurt him. It was a lesson he had learned living with a drunk of a father from the time he was four until he was seventeen.  
Seemingly an eternity later, he walked out of the warmth of the bathroom and into the biting cold of the apartment itself. He briefly stopped at the thermostat to turn on the heat before making his way into the bedroom to dress in more comfortable attire than a bath towel.   
The room was undecorated, the only sign of life was the bed sheets and covers bunched up from his sleep the previous night. He heard the heater kick on, sending a rush of warm air through the vents. The closet sent even more warm air out when he opened it to pull out a pair of sweatpants and a short-sleeved shirt. Water soaked into the wood at his feet when he dropped the towel to pull on the items of clothing he decided to wear. With the finality of the energy he managed to store, he flopped into the coolness of the bed and pulled the covers up to his chin.   
_“Dean? Dean, you don’t have to do this,” Sam told him, fear laced with pain in his voice as Dean pinned him to the ground. Tears came to Dean’s eyes when he met Sam’s in a brotherly gaze. He didn’t want to do this, but he knew he had to._  
 _Sam was the most important thing in Dean’s life, caring about him more than his own safety and comfort. He would do anything for his brother, this being one of those things. He would give anything to not have to hurt him._  
 _“I’m so sorry, Sammy, but I have to. We both know I do,” he whispered before sending a single bullet into Sam’s head. The life drained from both boys‘, still locked with each other as the glow died out. A trail of blood trailed down Sam’s forehead, down past his eyebrow, and finally pooling in his ear and dripping down onto the pavement._  
 _Dean wept over the lifeless body of his baby brother, no longer knowing that he was going to be safe. He knew for sure there was a Hell with all the demons and monsters they had fought over the years, but Heaven was a concept far out of his reach with all the evil he had seen compared to the goodness. Bobby stood behind him, waiting for Dean to finally give up the act that he had held onto for so long. Behind the eyes of the boy and the hunter he had grown up to be was the scared four year old who had just lost his mother surfacing now that he had lost his brother._  
 _“Let’s put him to rest,” he said in the gruff voice Dean had found comfort in a thousand times before, not quite able to find peace in it now. He could hear the sadness in the older man’s words, kindness where there should have been anger and loyalty where there should have been the feeling of betrayal. Dean knew Bobby was always going to be there for him in his time of need because family didn’t stop at blood with the Winchester boys._  
“Dean-o! Rise and shine, sleepy head!” Joe called out while banging on the front door of the apartment. Dean groaned at the sound of being rudely awakened at ten in the morning on his day off. He didn’t want to leave the serenity of his bed but somehow managed to pull himself up past the blankets and out the door to let his friend in. Joe was dressed in a button-down shirt with a pair of jeans, hair combed to the left and a smile plastered on his face.  
“What do you want, Joe? If you couldn’t tell, I was asleep.” Joe walked past Dean and into the living room, sitting down on the rickety brown coach they had found him at a thrift shop. Dean shut the door, not bothering to lock it now that he was awake. It never bothered him to leave it unlocked when he was awake and aware of his surroundings.   
“I came to give y’ your paycheck from the fight last night. Y’ got a lot of money from the sponsors alone plus some from the bets and the usual pay.” Dean was in the kitchen making coffee to wake himself up.  
“How much does it bring me up to, Joe? I don’t want small details, you know that.” Joe chuckled at what he assumed was Dean’s humor when it was simply Dean being Dean.   
“Sponsors gave y’ five, bets added fifteen, and the pay increased to a whoppin’ fifty.” Dean quickly did the math in his head as he poured himself the coffee into a mug Sam had gotten him for Father’s Day one year. He walked back into the living room and sat next to Joe with a shocked look.  
“Thirty? That’s more than I usually get in five months!” He took a drink of the coffee, allowing the bitter liquid to scald the inside of his mouth and throat in exchange for the caffeine he needed to get on with his day.   
“Dean-o, this was the first time since y’ been in Detroit that y’ beat Adam the Undefeated. The club decided to add a bit to your pay to keep y’ to bring in more watchers.” Joe put the check on the coffee table while Dean sighed as he thought back to the previous night.  
“How is he?” Dean took another drink.  
“Y’ more or less broke most of his face and a couple ribs. Now, enough talk ‘bout last night. We need to talk ‘bout tomorrow. I’ve seen Cass fight, Dean, and it’s not somethin’ y’ve seen ‘fore. He’s an animal in the cage.” Joe leaned back and put his arm on the armrest as he pivoted to face more towards Dean rather than the bookshelf.   
“That’s what you say every time, Joe. Don’t worry about it because we both know I can handle myself in there.” He rested his elbows on his knees as he continued to drink.   
“Also, the bosses want y’ to start fightin’ more than twice a week. They want y’ in Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays instead of your usual Monday and Wednesday.” Dean sighed as he rubbed his eyes with one hand. He couldn’t believe they wanted to up his game and risk injury. He knew they relied mostly on him to bring in opponents which -- in turn -- brought in a larger crowd making bets and paying entrance.   
“Fine, sign me up as long as I get paid better than when I was doing just the two days. If I get injured, I want paid for the days I can’t work because of their idiocy to increase my chances of getting hurt. Got it, Joe?”  
“Loud and clear, Dean-o. I’ll see y’ tomorrow at five so we can discuss your plan,” Joe commanded before walking out the door, shutting it behind him. Dean finished his coffee and stood up, making his way to the kitchen to put the cup in the sink. Once rinsed, he walked back to his room, picking is duffle up on the way to pack it for the gym. He dumped the contents on the floor, spreading them out and putting what he needed back in -- deodorant, cologne, and tape. While one hand held the duffle, the other opened the closest so he could pack extra clothes for after his work out. Then, he tossed the duffle on the floor with a gentle thud so that he could get dressed in a t-shirt and shorts.   
He stripped himself of the baggy t-shirt and sweatpants, pulling on a grey t-shirt that hugged his muscles and a pair of gym shorts with a pair of socks and tennis shoes that weren’t bloody. The duffle bag was thrown onto his shoulder, the check burning a hole in the pocket. Dean still couldn’t imagine the thought of having seven-thousand dollars from one fight, but it paid the bills and the tab at the coffee shop.   
The smell of antiseptic overpowered his senses when he closed his front door and locked it, thinking back to the building’s cleaning schedule and not remembering if it was cleaning day or not. With a sigh, he made his way down the stairs and out the building’s doors into a busy day in Detroit. The gym was five blocks north of his apartment and a sub shop was on the way, so he was able to stop for a quick breakfast. He ordered a meat-lovers sub with extra cheese and ate it on his way to the bank.   
“How can I help you today, Mr. Winchester?” Anna asked him. He pulled the check out of his bag and handed it to her without saying a word, trying to remember what Cass said his sister‘s name was. “Glad to see you got a raise, Mr. Winchester. Have a nice day.  
“You too, Anna,” he said as he pivoted and walked out of the bank to finally go to the gym -- which at this point was only a block and a half away.   
When he entered the gym, he was bombarded by the smell of sweat and other nasty things he didn’t want to think about. It was the complete opposite of his apartment building, but he was fine with it because it was his life. He tossed his duffle bag in one of the lockers and locked it in before going to the punching bag.  
He usually imagined it as his father or a monster he had to fight to keep him going and working instead of letting his mind wander, but today was a bit different. He imagined it was everyone who had ever done him wrong. The anger boiled in his body as he released the tension that he had held in for so long. With the new ‘promotion’ he had gotten, he was angry at the situations that brought him to that point.   
When he was four -- before his mother died -- he imagined growing up to be a firefighter or a policeman. Once his father was raising him and Sammy alone, he had just wanted a normal life with a nine to five job while watching Sam fulfill his own dreams. He had never wanted the hunting life or the fighting life, but one was thrust upon him and the other was the only way to pay the bills and keep food on the table.   
“Dean, we’re closing early today,” the owner of the gym, Bill, told him from the doorway of his office. Dean nodded and went to retrieve his bag from the locker, quickly changing before hauling it back onto his shoulder. He gave a polite nod to Bill as he passed him to get to the street.   
He stopped at the grocery store on the way back to his apartment, a simple Stop-And-Shop type place with regular customers and a family who’d owned it since the dawn of it’s existence. He grabbed a cart, tossing the duffle bag in and starting his shopping adventure to pick up toilet paper, soap, pie, milk, water, bandages, laundry detergent and fabric softener, and TV dinners to last him the rest of the month. He passed people he knew from around the area, not stopping to talk to any of them as he tossed his items in the cart and rolled his way up to the cash register to pay for what he deemed a necessity -- or an indulgence if someone were to question whether or not seven different pies were a necessity.  
“Dean?” he heard from behind him as he was passing through the personal care aisle. He stopped in front of the condom section -- oh the irony -- and turned to face the voice that sounded oddly familiar to him.  
“Cass?” he said as Castiel rolled his way to Dean with a smile. He was wearing a purple button-up shirt and a pair of blue jeans with tennis shoes. “How are you? I haven’t seen you around here before.”  
“I live just north of here and needed some food, desperately. How about you?” Cass asked him, leaning against his cart.  
“South of here. Needed the pleasantries of living, and of course pie because nothing’s right without it.” Cass chuckled at that last part -- as did Dean. He tossed some condoms in the cart for the hell of it.  
“Good luck tomorrow, in case I don’t see you before hand.” Dean’s smile slipped from his face.  
“You too, Cass. Promise me one thing?” Cass nodded. “No matter what happens tomorrow, we‘re gonna stay cool with each other and not want to kill each other?”  
“Of course, Dean. There’s a line between our personal lives and our work lives, and anybody who says differently or doesn‘t have that line is an idiot for mixing two completely different parts of themselves.” Dean nodded and smiled.   
“See you tomorrow, Cass,” he said before walking away to pay for his items. Instead of getting any bags and wasting resources, he used his duffle bag to carry the items home. It wasn’t as heavy as it could have been, but it was heavy enough to carry up the stairs.   
He took the bag to the kitchen and unloaded the items, putting them away in their respective places before getting dressed in his pajamas and crashing in bed. He knew he needed coffee more than once a day, but he got too carried away at the gym and store to be able to stop for any good stuff on the way home.   
_“Okay, Dean,” John said to him as he loaded the sawed off shotgun with rock salt. “What do you do?”_  
 _“Shoot first, ask questions later. I already know the drill, Dad.” John smiled proudly at his son. Dean was currently fifteen and aiding him on a simple salt-and-burn hunt in Massachusetts while Sammy was at Bobby’s for a month or so to finish the school year like he wanted._  
 _Dean waited until the ghost showed up to shoot with the rock salt that was loaded in the gun, sending the ghost into oblivion to buy some more time for John to salt-and-burn the bones. His body was shaking in fear because this was the first extremely violent ghost he had faced while John was somewhere else. It was just him and a Civil War casualty who wanted revenge for his death._  
 _When he let his guard down for a split second was when the ghost decided to attack, sending him flying into a wall. He tried shooting at it, missing and using the last of the rock salt at the same time. He knew John was going to be mad when he found out that Dean wasn’t doing what he was supposed to._  
 _The ghost threw him into another wall before going up in flames, the uniform engulfing him in green and blue, licking up his skin. Dean felt the heat more than he should have, his arm getting second and third degree burns._  
 _“Dean!” John called out from the front door of the house they were in. Dean groaned in pain as he hoped and prayed that John would hear him and not beat him into oblivion like with the werewolf hunt where Sam had almost gotten bitten because of him. He knew he was a failure in John’s eyes, the least favorite son and the screw up of the family compared to the perfect hunting machine and the walking research book._   
Dean’s alarm went off at noon, signaling him to get off his lazy ass and get ready for the fight. He was just happy to get to sleep in for once without Joe -- or anybody else -- waking him before his alarm went off.   
He rolled out of bed like every other day and prepared himself with his usual pre-fight routine. It all started with him walking into the bathroom and running himself a lukewarm bath, stripping himself down so that he could get into said bath. He soaked for a good hour, until his skin felt like prunes -- or an old man depending on how he felt that day. He wrapped himself in his light-blue bathrobe and walked to the kitchen. There, he got himself coffee and the apple pie, taking both back to the living room and sitting down on the couch to relax some more.   
He turned on the television to Doctor Sexy and watched the marathon that just happened to be on while eating the pie and drinking the coffee until he was finished. The cup was rinsed and put in the sink with the fork, and the pie tin was thrown in the garbage -- Dean making another mental note as he threw it away to take out the garbage soon. He made his way back to the bedroom with the duffle bag from the kitchen, pulling on a clean pair of boxer briefs and fighting shorts and a hooded sweatshirt after tossing the bag on the bed.  
The contents of the bag were dumped on the floor, only the essentials making their way back in the bag for a second time along with a clean Metallica shirt and a pair of jeans. He pulled on a pair of socks and his fighting tennis shoes, glancing over at the clock and realizing he still had an hour before he had to leave to make it to the warehouse on time.  
He had learned from past experience that Joe hated when he was late for their pre-fight discussions. He hadn’t dared be late after the first time, Joe pushing him against the lockers and calling him an ungrateful and selfish bastard. Dean didn’t like to let people down, and he tried his best not to let Joe down again.   
The rest of the extra hour was spent watching more of the Doctor Sexy marathon. Even though he had seen all the episodes, it was pretty nice to get to watch it in his spare time with a ‘fuck everything else’ attitude. When the episode ended, he knew he had to leave, so he grabbed his bag and headed out of the apartment building.  
He was scared when he first arrived in Detroit because it seemed so much bigger than the middle-of-nowhere-Hell-on-Earth town he lived in when he was in South Dakota with Sam. However, in the span of the two years he had lived in Detroit he had found that he quite enjoyed the bustle of city-life -- even though he rarely ventured away from the Eastern Market area. He had all he needed there, even if he was told he needed to get out more often.   
He made it to the warehouse with a few minutes to spare, using those extra minutes to get the sweatshirt, shoes, and socks off. Joe walked in when he was starting to warm up with his stretches.   
“Okay, Dean-o. I got to talk to y’ ‘bout how Cass fights,” he said, cutting straight to the business talk rather than having any small talk.  
“Hello to you too, Joe. I’m good, thanks for asking.” Joe scoffed at him as he threw punches to the air, loosening his muscles to become more limber.   
“Just listen to me, Dean-o. Cass fights like no other I’ve seen ‘fore. He’s one who waits until y’ get up ‘fore throwin’ anymore punches. He doesn’t kick, but he throws better than anythin’ I’ve seen.” Dean just nodded while continuing to warm up. Joe let out an exasperated breath, leaving him to continue what he needed to do.  
“Tonight, we have Dean Winchester who beat Adam Milligan the Undefeated and Castiel Novak who is a first timer in the city of Detroit,” the announcer called out through the speakers. Dean took that as his cue to walk to the cage and be trapped until one of them was near or at unconsciousness. He saw Cass make his way to the cage as well, abs clear as day in the darkness of the room.   
“Ya bof know da rules. Beat da shit outta anuder,” the ref said to them with a nod while unlocking the door. Dean could tell it was a different ref than the night he fought Adam. He let Cass enter first, taking the spot nearest the door. He could see the ref walk over to the iron bell and hit it three times.   
“Let da fight begin!” he yelled.  
Dean started formulating every possible move in his head, calculating how to beat Cass. It seemed like that was what Cass was doing also, the roar of the crowd drown out by their seemingly private thoughts. Dean could’ve swore that Cass could read his mind because with every punch he threw, Cass dodged it. Each time Cass threw a punch, Dean would attempt to dodge until Cass came around with the other hand and hit him in a way Dean could never see coming. Each time Dean fell, Cass would wait until he got back up to continue fighting. It wasn’t until the crowd was silent in anticipation that Dean knew he was going to lose this one. He threw a punch with the left, Cass dodging it to the right and throwing a right-left-combo which knocked Dean to the ground. He was tired and sore, bruises forming over the bruises left by Adam, so he stayed down and was whisked away to unconsciousness.  
“ _You’re never good enough!” John bellowed, fist colliding with Dean’s face. He could see the rage bubble in the older hunter, and he was fully aware that it was his fault John was acting this way. If he had been paying better attention then Sam wouldn’t have gotten hurt._  
 _“You’re such a fuck-up!” he screamed at Dean as he knocked the boy to the floor. Dean curled up on himself as he took each blow like a mother’s kisses. It was how he knew his father acknowledged his existence compared to his brother’s._  
 _John was always careful with Sam, never letting him get hurt or be in discomfort. He allowed him to stay at Bobby’s during the school year so he could have a proper education and brought him back only during the summer, whereas he pulled Dean out of school at sixteen although Dean wanted to stay. He had said it was because he couldn’t hunt alone even though he had more often than not. Dean knew it was only because he needed somebody to take his anger out on._  
 _“I’m going for a drink, don’t wait up. Also, clean up while I’m gone,” John told him quietly as he pulled on his leather jacket and grabbed the Winchester Journal._  
 _“Love you, Dad,” Dean said to him. John shrugged it off as he pulled the door shut behind him. Dean knew John loved him deep inside, but it was his resemblance to Mary that always bothered his father. He also knew his John would never treat his wife like that, but it was the resemblance and that his son could never live up to her that sent John over the edge._  
 _“You can come out now, Sammy,” he called out to his brother who had locked himself in the bathroom while Dean took the beating. Sam came out and wrapped his arms around Dean, doing his best to comfort him because even though John was their father, Dean was Sam’s dad._  
Dean woke up to Joe standing over him with a cup of coffee. He wasn’t sure how he had gotten home or what had happened after he passed out in the cage. Without any conversation, he took the coffee from Joe and drank it as it scalded his mouth.  
“Cass is in the livin’ room. He wants to see y’ to make sure y’re okay,” Joe quietly said before leaving the room. Never before had Joe acted like that around him, so he wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing at that point.   
He finished the coffee and sat the mug down on the nightstand before standing up and walking into the living room in his boxers. The first thing he saw was Cass sprawled on the couch asleep in the clothes he had worn at the grocery store. Joe wasn’t in the room anymore, which led Dean to believe he had already left the apartment.   
“Cass,” he croaked out as he gently shook the man’s shoulder. Cass opened his eyes, looking at Dean with the sapphires he loved. Cass then sat up, giving Dean enough room to sit down with him on the old couch.  
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay. It’s not every day that my opponent literally goes unconscious during a fight like that.” Dean nodded at him.  
“Yeah, I’m fine. Killer headache, though,” he chuckled. Cass laughed a little, but not the laugh that Dean wanted.  
“Nice place you got here.” Dean nodded at him.  
“It’s not too shabby, just enough for what I need. If only Sam could see me now,” he said the last sentence under his breath. Quickly, he could tell Cass had heard him.  
“Who’s Sam?” he asked. Dean sighed, realizing he shouldn’t have said anything at all.  
“He was my brother. He died a couple years ago,” Dean sighed. Cass nodded sympathetically.  
“Now that you know quite a bit about me, it’s your turn,” Cass said with a slight smile. It wasn’t every day that Dean had somebody ask about his personal life or his past, let alone bring it up after he told them his brother died. He was starting to like Cass more than before with knowing that he actually cared about what Dean had gone through.  
“Fuck, I don’t even know where to start.”  
“Start from the beginning,” Cass told him. If only Dean knew where the beginning was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's taken me a couple days to get Chapter 1 up, and after finishing it I looked at the word count of over 7000 and realized that I'd written this right after my Aunt died and right after the funeral to help keep my mind off the fact that she's not here anymore. So, anyway, I hope you like it and I hope you give me feedback. The amount of people who read the prologue alone was more than I expected at a whopping 109. So, here's Chapter 1.


End file.
